


It's Wherever You Are...

by nyxocity



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Boys' Love, Frottage, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-14
Updated: 2012-10-14
Packaged: 2017-11-16 07:01:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/536773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nyxocity/pseuds/nyxocity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam finally has his soul back and Dean couldn't be happier. Has been waiting for a *real* reunion with his brother for months.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Wherever You Are...

They’ve got nothing when they leave Bobby’s, no cash and the new credit cards haven’t come through yet.

Dean could care less. Sam’s got his soul back. He’s _Sam_ again. The huge, soulful, puppy dog eyes, the brooding shoulders, the floppy hair—they’re all back in action, and that’s all Dean needs. All he’s needed for months now.

If he’s honest about it, he prefers squatting to motels when they’re not on a job. Motels have the convenience thing going on, close to food, close to anything they need to investigate. The bars and stripper joints don’t suck, either.

But right here, right now, there’s nothing that compares to a shitty mattress spilling stuffing all over the drooping hardwood floor, Sam writhing underneath him, hands gripping him close and hard. It’s freezing, and he could care less about that, too, warmth of Sam pressed against him shoulder to hip, his brother’s head thrown back, throat offered up to Dean’s mouth, begging Dean with short bursts of breath for more, faster, all of it, right fucking now.

Dean’s been waiting months for this. For the flat of his tongue running up the flutter of Sam’s pulse, slow drag of searing heat, icy lips touching skin. Sam gasps at the contrast, and Dean breathes out, breath misting on the air, ghosting across his little brother’s throat. Hand sliding around the hard curve of Sam’s thigh, fingers scraping against denim as he pushes between his brother’s weight and the mattress, grabbing the curve of Sam’s ass, other hand gripping Sam’s shoulder to hold him down.

Sam wants everything right the fuck now, but Dean’s in no hurry at all. Months of misunderstandings, waiting, confusion, wondering who the hell this guy who looks like Sam actually _is_ , distance between them lodged deep in his chest, the worst betrayal of all.

It’s Sam, his brother underneath him, now, and he finally knows exactly what to do. And right here, right now, in an abandoned house in the middle of nowhere, he can do whatever he wants. No people in the room next door to worry about, no people anywhere. Just him and Sam, the same way it’s always been. The way it always will be.

Teeth nipping at Sam’s jaw line, those hips rocking into him, wanting, needing, so desperate, and Dean lifts his ass, pulling back just a little, just enough.

“Asshole,” Sam gutters out, word forming icy shapes in the air. “Stop teasing.”

“Shut up,” Dean whispers, smirking, hips grinding into Sam slow and hard, hot lines of their cocks rubbing together through their jeans. “You…” hips circling, twisting, “love it…” cold lips grazing the line of his brother’s jaw, “when I tease.”

Dean can almost feel Sam’s cock twitch through the layers of their clothes, groan rising up through his brother’s throat, vibrating against Dean’s jaw, Sam’s fingers digging into his back, hard enough that they’d rip away skin if they were naked.

Dean grunts, smirking down at Sam. “Look at you, you little slut. Gonna come in your pants… can’t even help it, can you? Don’t even want to.”

“Don’t _care_.” Sam’s eyes are almost black in the dim light, devouring him, teeth dividing the soft pink of his lower lip, hips grinding shamelessly, helplessly into Dean, and fuck, Dean’s going to come in his pants, too, if Sam keeps going like this.

He pulls back, watching his brother’s face in the flickering orange light of the lantern. Beautiful is a word he reserves for women, but his brother’s face, caught half in shadow, thrown back, mouth open and wanting, eyes shut tight, so in this moment, so fucking _surrendering_ to it…

It’s beautiful.

All of this, everything between them—the fact that Sam’s whole and alive and here —it’s more than he ever expected.

He’s lived so long without it that he’d forgotten what living was like.

“Sam,” he whispers, and Sam’s expression breaks with something he sees in Dean’s face, hissing out _“Fuck”_ as his hips stutter, grinding up into Dean, moaning against his mouth, and he’s so hot, burning up as he comes, Dean’s name catching in his throat.

Dean comes at the sound, at the feel of his brother coming apart underneath him, spurting inside his clothes, wet and messy, the two of them gripping tight to each other and riding each other through the aftershocks, shivering against each other until they’re still and sated. Dean feels warm, content lying there on top of his brother. There’s come soaking into his jeans, but he doesn’t care. Doesn’t move again until the cold creeps back in, leaving them shivering for different reasons.

They clean up and then curl close together under the thin blanket, Dean putting out the lantern last.

The house is a ruin, it’s cold and the mattress is shitty, but Sam’s here, wrapped all around him. And though he’d never say it out loud, it feels like home.

  
  



End file.
